


we both need it to forget this fear

by chilipepperconverse



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Angst and Romance, Canon Compliant, Canon Timeline, Drunken Kissing, During Canon, Inspired by Fanart, Kissing, M/M, anyway, as a treat, everyone other than jmart is only mentioned tho, except melanie briefly, i guess??, just a little, u kno, uhhhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:41:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26556019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chilipepperconverse/pseuds/chilipepperconverse
Summary: (WHOLLY inspired by this utterly *perfect* headcanon and comic by @GangCane on twitter! https://twitter.com/gangcane/status/1282204351071567873?s=21)Between episodes 117 and 118, just before going to stop the Unknowing, Tim gives his coworkers just enough liquor to loosen them up. But after listening to Martin's tape, Jon may have loosened up a bit too much.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 17
Kudos: 166





	we both need it to forget this fear

**Author's Note:**

> HEY SO..... 
> 
> i swear i'm into a different fandom each time i post here but it's FINE i promise. anyway jonny sims has me in a vice grip and i might be writing more tma and maybe mechanisms fics soon. but have this for now! 
> 
> my friend sent me this gorgeous comic and i literally couldn't stop thinking about it (https://twitter.com/gangcane/status/1282204351071567873?s=21) (im putting the link here too bc i want to make it VERY CLEAR that this wasn't my idea!! i just loved it so much i wanted to write it)
> 
> \--warnings for: alcohol mentions, negative self-talk, and just a veeeery very brief mention of minor self-harmful behaviors--
> 
> ok you know the drill homies this fic's title is a song lyric. this time it's from White Lie by the Lumineers!
> 
> Enjoy!!

Usually, Martin wasn’t one to drink. Then again, things hadn’t been _usual_ for quite some time. 

The days had blurred together since Jon had returned, and Martin wasn’t sure if he should blame that on the urgency of what was happening tomorrow, or the near-constant fluttering of his heart. Damn it all, you’d think that after this long he could have gotten used to it. But even as he lay there with only a thin blanket separating him and the archive’s floor, Tim’s alcohol swirling off his breath, his chest still ached knowing that Jon was only a few feet from him.

That night had been... tense. Jon wouldn’t hear any objections, ushering everyone into the office one by one to ramble into his tape recorder. With the weight of the Unknowing bearing down on all of them, Tim had sighed heavily and pulled out a somewhat alarming number of wine bottles from his desk. Martin hadn’t kept track of how many they went through, but it must not have been enough to get them _completely_ drunk. Basira had driven Melanie and herself home without any issue, and a text from each of them confirmed that. Even so, by the time Tim disappeared into what had once been the bug-proofed room, Martin’s mind had been hazy enough to think sleeping on the same spread-out throw blanket as Jon was a _fine_ idea. 

He wasn’t sure exactly when he fell asleep, but the familiar creaking door to the office had Martin’s eyes opened instantly. In the dim light he saw Jon’s lanky form nudging the door closed with his hip, his hands occupied with two glasses of water. Martin’s heart lurched at the gesture. He pushed himself up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and putting on his glasses. 

Jon sat down across from him, crossing his legs and meeting Martin’s gaze with a hint of a smile that made his breath hitch. 

“Sorry to wake you,” Jon said quietly, holding out one of the glasses. “Just thought I’d get you some, too.”

“Th-Thanks,” Martin stammered, taking it gratefully. He curled his hands around the glass, trying to focus on the chipped spots where his nail polish had flaked away. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Jon, now leaned up against the same bookshelf as him, looking over quizzically before taking a sip of water. Martin took a deep breath, desperate to break the silence.

“Are you nervous about tomorrow?”

As soon as he asked the question he was mentally kicking himself. _Of course he’s nervous, it’s only the world as we know it that’s at stake._

But Jon didn’t scoff or roll his eyes. Instead he looked thoughtfully into the middle distance, swishing the water in his cup.

“I don’t know, Martin,” he murmured. The grit that always rolled under his voice was more prominent in the dryness the wine had left his throat in. Jon shook his head. “I mean, I am— I obviously am. But...”

He brought his scarred hand to his right temple, dragging his brow ridge across the pad of his palm with force analogous to how a cat leans into touch. Martin fought every impulse to put his hand on his friend’s shoulder, and found it had made its way there anyway. He bit the inside of his lip and waited for Jon to notice him stroking his shoulder with his thumb, but the archivist just continued to whittle away the sudden headache.

“I suppose I just haven’t been... focused... on the fear,” he said at last. “I’ve been so worried about getting everything right that I just... couldn’t afford to be conscious of it.”

Martin swallowed and pulled his hand away, fighting back thoughts of having ruined Jon’s plan by making him overthink things. But he knew better than that— he knew _Jon_ better than that. 

“That makes sense,” he nodded, shifting his weight to face him fully. His mind was still a bit muddled, but Martin managed to filter out his thoughts, however surface-level. “You’re helping save the world, you know? That’s a lot of... pressure. You can’t think about it all the time or you’ll start to crumble.”

Jon sighed. “That’s certainly one way to put it.” He leaned back until the crown of his head bumped against the books behind him, and he looked over to meet Martin’s eyes. “I’m just... convinced that I won’t come back from this.”

“You will,” Martin said without thinking. Even Jon seemed taken aback by this, his eyebrows raising slightly. But Martin’s resolve was solid. Jon had to come back, he just _had_ to. Martin drank some of his water and cleared his throat. 

“If you think like that,” he said as firmly as he could muster, “you’re gonna be less careful. What was that thing you used to say about being skeptical, ‘belief breeds behavior’ or something like that?” 

Jon shrugged. “Sounds familiar.”

“So _believe_ that you’ll survive,” Martin pleaded, allowing himself to lean forward just enough to emphasize his point. “And you’ll be more likely to.”

Jon nodded, though it looked a bit distant, like he was deep inside his own head and had barely heard Martin. He chuckled softly. “Look at you, telling me my own advice. The world really is ending.”

Martin held his breath. Jon’s words were playful and morbid, but his voice was as soft and emotive as it had ever been. His eyes, though half-lidded, smiled out warmly at his companion in a way that made everything around the two of them feel fuzzy. For one terrifying moment, Martin was compelled to flit his gaze down to his lips. 

With a start, he realized Jon had also been staring into his eyes. His heart tumbled over itself and he busied himself by pretending to be interested in the nearest object. 

Perhaps too quickly, Martin snatched his glass of water from the floor and shakily offered it as a toast. Maybe it was a distraction, maybe it was genuine. Either way, his sentiment was true.

“To surviving?” he joked, managing a smile.

Jon gave a small, lopsided smirk in return, one that brought warmth to his usually sullen face. 

The two held up their glasses, and Martin tilted his into the cheer so eagerly that he watched the water slosh out dramatically over the rim. He recoiled, and watched as a dark spot spread across Jon’s chest. _Fantastic_.

“Oh, god!” Martin groaned. That water was cold, and he had gotten it _all over_ Jon. Martin’s first thought was to give him his dry dress shirt, but the image of tearing it off in front of Jon was enough to cringe at. Thankfully, this had been one of the rare days where he’d worn a tie to work. 

“I’m sorry, Jon,” he whimpered, pulling the loose end of the tie out of its knot and yanking the fabric from his collar. Martin hopelessly wiped the woven polyester on the stiff linen that had definitely already absorbed the water. Somewhere beyond the fog of anxiety, he could hear Jon’s amused response. 

“It’s okay, Martin, it’s just water.” 

But all he could focus on was his own stupidity. He shook his head and grimaced against the blood roaring in his ears.

“God, I just can’t not make a mess, can I?” Martin chuckled nervously, mostly to himself. “Really, Jon, I’m so sorry, I can-”

“ _Martin_.”

Jon gripped his hand, not harshly but not lightly. Gentle, yet insistent. Martin stared at their clasped hands in awe, tie forgotten on the floor, his stomach somersaulting. Not a moment later, though, and he realized why. _Too much._ Shame flooded his face, and he wanted nothing more than to vanish. 

“S-sorry...”

But as he started to pull his hand away, more to retrieve it than escape, Jon’s grip stayed firm. Just enough to keep their hands together. Martin stared at them again, this time in confusion. Whatever Jon was doing had to be genuine, as even when drunk he wasn’t exactly the humorous type. If he was trying to get Martin to stop apologizing, it had worked. But something was... different. All of a sudden, Martin was acutely aware of how close they were.

He looked up slowly, not sure what to expect. “...Jon?”

With a face that betrayed heartache in equal measure to what Martin felt, Jon’s dark eyes settled on him. Meeting their intensity was enough to make Martin’s heart falter. They danced with the lights of fondness, despair, and something rapidly approaching desire. His other hand came to rest against Martin’s cheek, the calloused thumb sweeping across the heat building there. Martin inhaled sharply at the touch, all at once certain of what was about to happen. _Jon was going to kiss him_. Jon, who froze up at any sign of affection, who had been blind to Martin’s feelings all this time, who tried desperately to hide his emotions behind logic and reasoning— _Jon_ was going to _kiss him._

Martin was so lost in the entrancing depth of his paramour’s eyes that he barely registered the hand slip from his own, or felt it gently cup the soft curve of his jaw. All he could feel was the glowing warmth that paraded his chest and made his limbs tremble with anticipation, and when it was all too much he let his eyes drift shut as he leaned forward. 

Their lips found each other, tentatively closing the gap that held everything that couldn’t be expressed in words. Martin’s heart soared as he reached to hook his arm around Jon’s neck, clamoring for anything that would bring him closer. The kiss itself was messy, of course it was. Frantic, and with so much longing that bubbled up and over, a history of confounding feelings and missed chances all culminating in this poorly-timed, reckless, and absolutely perfect kiss. Without the care for lining up their faces just right, Martin’s glasses were pushed up and over his head and quickly forgotten. Jon broke away just long enough to gasp for air, only to dive right in again, one hand wandering Martin’s back and the other buried in his curly brown locks. 

With a boldness even he didn’t think he had, Martin went so far as to put his weight into the drive behind his lips, feeling Jon yield and curl back as he slid down against the bookshelf. The smell of his breath was swimming around Martin’s head, making him dizzy in a way the alcohol never could’ve come close to. He slowed his reverie and traveled his lips down Jon’s chin and to his collarbone, smiling through each kiss as those scarred and rough hands glided across the nape of his neck. He was thankful that neither of them let the other’s name slip from their lips. That would have brought them back to reality.

Eventually the frenzy swayed, and the two were left clinging to each other, now supine on the strewn blanket. They still kissed, but only briefly and between long, heaving pauses, occupied only by the whirlwind of complications floating threateningly over the haven they had built there on the floor. 

Martin leaned further into the space between Jon’s neck and lower jaw, feeling the heat of his mottled skin surrounding him. He could tell Jon was nearly asleep, but he still inhaled deeply and shivered when Martin planted a kiss on one of his scars. Jon’s arms wrapped even tighter around him, and Martin let out a hum of the most pure contentment he’d felt in what may have been years. Damn whatever Tim would say if he saw them, damn whatever happened in the morning, damn the world for when they would inevitably be ripped apart— at least for now, they were together.

  
  


* * *

Jon was such an _idiot_.

Upon waking up, the first thing he felt was weight on his chest. Then he noticed his phone going off. Morning alarm. With his eyes still almost shut, Jon tapped the ‘stop’ button and looked back at-

 _Oh_.

Martin was still curled against his frame, his freckled face mere inches from Jon’s and resting in a serene expression that made his heart sputter. The rush of feelings that came to him in that moment of recollection nearly knocked the archivist unconscious again. They bubbled under the seal he’d put on them as soon as he’d listened to Martin’s tape the night before— shock, desperation, anxiety, _love—_

No. That seal had already ruptured once. He couldn’t think about all of this— not now. Not with the pressure of the day’s journey weighing so heavily on him. Jon sighed. He _really_ shouldn’t have agreed to Tim’s last hurrah. But if anything, he was more worried about Martin. How would he be able to hold himself together after that? And after waking up to find Jon had left already? _God, what had he done?_

Jon reluctantly slipped from his spot, keeping a hand there to guide Martin’s head as it sank to the ground where he had just been. He allowed himself to focus on the way Martin’s hair felt for a fleeting moment- soft, loose curls that danced their way across his hand. The pain that seized his heart was overwhelming. Maybe this was the last time he would see Martin- lying in peaceful slumber on the floor, body still shaped to fit around his... 

Damn it. Losing focus again. Whether he survived or not didn’t matter, not to the wider world. What mattered was stopping the Unknowing, and if it cost him his life... well. At least Martin’s last memories of him would be pleasant enough. 

Willing away the threat of tears, Jon brushed away the hair on Martin’s forehead and whispered a goodbye. 

He stood, visualizing the events of the night being left there below him. They had a job to do. 

Tim wasn’t happy about being woken up, but he was never really happy to see his boss anyway. To Jon’s relief, he didn’t ask why no one had woken Martin up, and didn’t attempt to either. Two quick texts, and Basira and Daisy were on their way. Jon didn’t dare to say anything more than necessary, not trusting his chosen method of repression would truly work in this state. Thankfully, he wasn’t much of a morning person anyway, so Tim did most of the talking once the detectives arrived. 

He climbed into the driver’s seat of the big SUV, and wasted no time playing some frankly unfitting music while Jon, Daisy, and Basira loaded up the boxes. Jon couldn’t even bring himself to fuss over being careful with the explosives. He focused entirely on the blankness of his expression, desperate not to let any of the fears and regrets gnawing at him show through. Within half an hour, they set out for the wax museum.

The ride was deafeningly silent. It wasn’t like any of them felt much for conversation, and what tissue paper topics could they even talk about without them burning away instantly? It was just impossible to ignore the very real chance that one or all of them would be dead in a matter of hours, which made things like the weather just a punch in the gut to talk about. So, they elected to sit in silence. 

Jon’s leg was bouncing under him furiously as he stared out the window, watching London fade away behind them. He mentally checked the number of explosives they had loaded, rehearsed how many would go where, and then came to a stop. For all the preparations they had done, he didn’t actually _know_ when the right moment to set off the explosion would be. But he had been aware of that. In a sense, he had a plan for not knowing that part of the plan. He shook his head, sensing Daisy glance over at him as he did so. After going over the plan himself too many times to count, Jon considered bringing it up with the others. But the disinterested, hostile air around him was enough for the words to die on his tongue.

He checked his watch. 8:35. They had only been on the road for about an hour, and Martin was probably up by now. 

In spite of his efforts, Jon winced. How cruel was he, to uncover his feelings as soon as he learned about Martin’s, give the two of them everything they’d wanted, only to abandon him in the morning with every possibility of not returning? Jon put his head in his hands, pulling his hair loose from the low ponytail he’d gathered it in. 

Defeated, he fished his phone from his pocket, half-expecting to find a text from Martin on the screen, but there was nothing. He exhaled and typed out a short apology. Pitiful, really. Jon slipped his phone into the backpack he’d brought along, not wanting to notice any reply for fear of further complicating his mental state. He’d put the problem to rest.  
  


* * *

  
  


Martin woke up cold. And, well... embarrassed.

He cursed his brain as he got himself up and off the floor. Really, he was _well aware_ how head-over-heels he was for Jon— and it didn’t help to have incredibly vivid dreams about _kissing him_ when they had slept only two feet apart. Martin folded the blanket and sighed heavily, feeling tears start to well. Jon didn’t even wake him up to say goodbye.

“Dammit,” Martin whispered, whipping his glasses away and rubbing his eyes as discreetly as he could manage. No one else was in the office, but it still felt wrong to cry openly in there. What with the Eye watching, or whatever. 

Elias wouldn’t be in until 9, and it was only around 7:30, so Martin figured that he could run home and have time to get cleaned up. He had no idea why, but he’d woken up feeling a lot sloppier than expected. 

As he made his way to the train station, Martin wondered if his disheveled-ness was because he’d moved around in his sleep, as he was occasionally known to. His face paled. What if that’s why Jon wasn’t there when he woke up? What if he’d tried to grab onto him in his sleep?!

Martin forced an exhalation through puffed cheeks, his self-consciousness suppressing the urge to smack his forehead as well. He was imagining that, just like he’d imagined the dream. It was no big deal.

Riding the tube home at this hour certainly exacerbated that sloppy feeling. The passengers around him were either going to work or were sleepless partygoers returning home. Martin supposed he was a little of both. The walk of shame, as they called it, and for good reason. Martin kept his head low, feeling so many staring eyes that may or may not have actually been staring. It didn’t matter- either way he felt inexplicably _disgusting_ , like he’d done something horribly wrong and the whole world could see it. _Look at that lecherous freak, he had a dream about kissing his boss!_

When he got home, Martin wasted no time showering and changing into clean clothes. Refreshed and energized, as he sat eating his hastily-made breakfast, he could almost convince himself it was a normal day. 

That is, until a text lit up his phone. 

He didn’t have to look to know it was Jon, probably explaining the plan for the umpteenth time. He rolled his eyes and got up to wash his plate. A little faith would’ve been nice.

Martin gathered his things and got right back on the Underground, feeling a bit less of a spectacle. Sure, wearing a turtleneck and flannel in early September might’ve been odd to some, but it wasn’t enough to draw attention the way a slept-in dress shirt was. Once out, Martin made his way through the streets as usual, mumbling apologies to those he bumped into and those who bumped into him. 

The Magnus Institute wasn’t an especially tall building, but Martin could never get over how it seemed to loom over the street in front of it. He stared up at the stonework and gulped, images of Melanie’s wailing flickering in his head. Elias was going to hurt him today, he knew that. But as he’d said into Jon’s tape the night before, as long as it helped keep the others safe, he was ready and willing. Martin steeled himself and marched in. 

He wanted to greet Rosie the same way he did every day: cheerfully, but without stopping to chat. Usually they played catchup at the end of the day, but... Martin wasn’t sure if there would even be a _world_ at the end of the day. So, he stood by her desk and talked to her for a bit. How were her classes going, was her dog doing well, did she have any costume plans for Halloween? Rosie answered them all eagerly, raving about how interesting this class was, oh he’s lively as ever, maybe this comic book character! 

Martin smiled and nodded, trying to focus on the receptionist’s bubbly nature instead of the clock on the wall behind her. It pained him to think that he wasn’t listening to her fully, but his mind was a full whirlwind and he politely excused himself as soon as Rosie was done.

Finally, Martin made it down to the archives. For all the appalling and terrifying things that had happened there, a small part of him somehow still found the musty smell and old floorboards strangely comforting. Stockholm syndrome, probably. 

He set his messenger bag on the floor and took a deep breath as he sat down at his desk. It was just past 9. The others wouldn’t be getting to their destination for another hour. Still though, it might be worth it to get a head start. He remembered the text. Maybe Jon had told him where he’d set aside the statements to burn.

Martin took his phone out from his bag and watched the screen light up. Sure enough, it was Jon who had texted him.

_I’m sorry about last night._

He blinked, trying to make sense of the message. Why was he sorry? This clearly didn’t have anything to do with their plan, so what was he talking about? Last night? 

Last night.

_Last night._

Martin's heart sank. 

Was that... _not a dream?_

Suddenly desperate, Martin got up and ran to Jon’s office. He wasn’t sure what he’d find there, but he scanned the room anyway, ears blazing and stomach clenched like a fist. His eyes darted around wildly before focusing on Jon’s desk. 

Two empty glasses. 

Martin felt like he was going to throw up. It _actually happened_. They had genuinely made out right there on the office floor like teenagers. Horrified, Martin recounted everything in full detail for the first time since he’d woken up, and with each new piece he remembered he slid further and further to the floor. He stared blankly into it, the lines and patterns on the wood wobbling and blurring as Martin’s eyes filled with silent tears. 

Why did it have to happen like this? How long had Jon felt the same way about him? Had he listened to the tape from earlier that night and found out that way, or had he known all along that Martin liked him and only acted on it at the last possible moment? What would happen to their friendship if Jon survived? What if he _didn’t_ survive? The tears were now rolling down Martin’s face, but he did nothing to stop them.

He sat there a long while, just inside the doorway to Jon’s office, leaning against the frame. His tears had long dried when he heard Melanie walk in.

“Uhhh, what are you doing?”

Martin scrambled to his feet, face beet red and hands trembling. What _had_ he been doing?

“Oh, Melanie! Heh, I was, uhm. Ch-checking... on something. In here.”

She looked at him skeptically. “Uh-huh.”

“A-and, I dunno, I just kind of... spaced out? I do that sometimes.”

“So I’ve heard,” Melanie sneered humorlessly, shoving her way past him. She walked behind Jon’s desk and pulled out a messy stack of papers sticking out in all directions. Melanie pushed the statements into Martin’s chest, walking away before he had time to react. 

“And that’s my work for today, done!” She said over her shoulder as Martin flailed about to gather the pages that he hadn’t been fast enough to catch. “If you need me, I won’t be there!”

Martin heard a door close, but didn’t pay attention to which one it was. His mind was still racing from everything. Hugging the statements to his chest, he walked back to his desk and plopped into his seat. As soon as the papers were set aside Martin collapsed onto the desk, hands running nervously through his hair. 

_Nothing_ could have thrown him off more than this. All this time he’d spent _daydreaming_ about Jon like the lovestruck fool he knew he was, always assuming his pining was one-sided, and this was how he had to learn it wasn’t. Martin’s heart ached— there was nothing he wanted more than to be with Jon at this very moment, to hold him close and ask what the _hell_ he had been thinking last night. The confusing mix of elation, anger and bereavement were forming a lump in his throat so massive that Martin could barely breathe.

But looking at the time, he realized he had no choice but to push it down. The Unknowing wasn’t going to wait for him to get over himself. Martin pressed into his temples, giving himself a few thumps on the back of his head for good measure. He’d never been good at burying his feelings, but he supposed he would have to learn today.

His phone still lay open to Jon’s text. With his heart heavy, Martin contemplated if he should even reply. The others were probably at their destination, or close to it, so he didn’t think Jon would be looking at his phone. But it would still feel wrong to leave him without closure, even if only symbolic. 

Martin could only think of one thing to say. 

_Please make it back._

**Author's Note:**

> sorry bout the lack of a happy ending but this is jonny sims content we’re talkin about 😔
> 
> thats it! i respond to every comment so feel free to leave your thoughts! you can also reach out to me on discord (@diamondchili#3539) if you wanna talk tma or anything really! 
> 
> seeya around, thanks for reading!! 💙


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